She taps the side of the bin. “Hey, wanna take a lunch break while this fills up? It’ll be awhile.”
I glance at my watch. “Sure.”
Despite the fact that we’re both fully grown adults, Mom still insists on packing our lunches. I know it makes her feel useful, so I let her. And honestly, I won’t complain—Mom’s cooking is one of the few comforts that make the long, grueling days in the orchard bearable.
Olivia and I settle beneath a cherry tree, brown paper bags in hand, each labeled with our names in Sharpie like when we were kids. Inside, I find a chicken salad sandwich on a croissant, a small bag of potato chips, and a shiny red apple. Mom’s chicken salad is the best, complete with dried cranberries and chopped walnuts.
We eat in comfortable silence for a moment, the leaves whispering overhead, a breeze cooling our sweat-damp skin. The salt fromthe chips makes me thirsty, so I reach for the metal bottle in my backpack, flip the cap, and take a long pull of ice-cold water.
I swallow, then bite into my apple. “You know, you didn’t have to jump straight back into work on your first day home,” I say around the crunch. “Are you sure you want to endure another cherry season?”
She scoffs. “Please. You’re a hell of a lot nicer to work for than Dad ever was.” She takes another bite of her croissant, flakes scattering across her shirt. “And college isn’t cheap. I could use the extra money.”
“Fair enough.” I swirl my water bottle absently, listening to the ice rattle. “Did you get your final grades yet?”
Her face lights up. “Yeah. Three A’s and a B.”
Pride blooms warm and sudden in my chest. She’s the first in our family to go to college. I know how hard that must’ve been, figuring out financial aid, student loans, and endless paperwork all on her own.
“That’s awesome,” I say, grinning. “I’m proud of you.”
She shakes her head, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. “Stop. It’s just graphic design—not pre-med.”
“Don’t sell yourself short, Liv.”
She waves a hand dismissively. “I’m only a sophomore. There’s still time for me to flunk out,” she jokes, a playful glint in her eyes. “Anyway, enough about me. Are you still seeing Phoebe?”
I nearly choke on my water. “Wow,” I say, coughing. “Straight to the point, huh?”
“I’ve already told you about my chaotic college love life. It’s only fair you tell me what’s going on with yours,” she argues, arms crossed over her chest. “You’re always so secretive about that stuff.”
Heat creeps up the back of my neck. “I’m not.”
“You are,” she insists, tilting her head with a knowing look. “Phoebe’s a nice girl. You know I adore her. I don’t understand why you don’t lock her down.”
I stare down at my apple, mindlessly picking at the skin. “Actually, we, uh… we decided we’re better off as friends.”
Olivia’s jaw drops. “Seriously?” she asks, eyes wide. “She was way out of your league, Ash. That was a huge mistake.”
I swallow hard. “We’re just… better off as friends.”
She leans back against the tree, tapping her fingers against her thigh, her expression shifting into something curious. “Okay, fine. But that still leaves a big question unanswered. What’s your ideal girl, then? You know, if I wanted to set you up with someone?”
A scowl spreads across my face. “I don’t need my little sister to set me up on dates.”
She rolls her eyes. “Hypothetically, then.”
I freeze for a beat, staring at the grass. “Uh… I don’t know,” I mutter. “I guess I want to date someone nice… hardworking… smart. Funny. Someone who can make me laugh even when I’m at my lowest.”
Her eyebrows rise in interest, and she leans closer. “Mm-hmm, keep going.”
I take a deep breath. “Someone who understands how much the orchard means to me. Someone who gets why I dedicate myself to it… who respects that. Someone who… makes me feel sparks.”
Olivia’s grin widens. “Hmm. Sparks, huh? Well, I might know a few girls you could meet—”
“No,” I interrupt. “Seriously. I don’t need a matchmaker. Besides, I’m too busy right now to date anyone.”
Her eyes narrow. “But—”
